Used To Be
by knowhere
Summary: Literati. They’re on a plateau, no ups or downs, no excitement or joy. They learn that complacency is not the best position to be in. AU.
1. Perfunctory

**Used To Be**

Chapter 1: Perfunctory

Author: Knowhere

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The idea, concept, and other miscellaneous belong to me.

**AN:** No, I'm not dead. No, I haven't forgotten that I've left two stories unfinished so far. I'm working on it. Promise. I just haven't been in the mood to finish up Lux. But I picked it up and started the fourth version of the last chapter. I've decided to scrap it like the previous three. Something's off. However, I picked up Gradual as well and I'm almost finished with the latest chapter. I _hope_ to have it up soon.

Here's my olive branch to my readers. I wrote this…oh, about two years ago? Something like that. I just never posted it because I never knew how to end it. However, I think it ends fine after the second chapter. Initially, it was a three-parter, but I decided to nix it after two. If this seems not quite...up to par, remember I wrote this years ago.

Enjoy!

Summary: Literati. They're on a plateau, no ups or downs, no excitement or joy. They learn that complacency is not the best position to be in. AU.

* * *

"Hey, you awake?" The bed shifted as he looks over at me. I blink several times, adjusting to the low lighting of the room. The streetlamp outside and the alarm clock are the only sources of lights present, but even without them, I know exactly what expression he's wearing.

I know without looking that his eyebrow is cocked. The left one, not the right. Always the same eyebrow with that question. He's raised up on an elbow; peering down at me, smirk in place. He's asking a question to which he already knows to answer to. He knows I'm awake. He knows it, but still asked. I suppose it's out of courtesy. After all these years, he hasn't lost his edge, but has gained a certain amount of courtesy. But he was always fairly polite when we were in the bedroom. He never expected something he knew wasn't to be expected. Never demanded anything. Never asked for something that I wasn't going to give. Always made sure I was comfortable. Never let the overwhelming need shadow the necessity for tenderness or love. He's never made it crass, even if what we did wasn't entirely…clean. He has always been considerate. Much more gentle than one would have expected from the bad boy.

"Yeah, I'm awake."

His smirk widens, as if that were possible. "So…?" He left the question hanging. No need to vocalize it. I know what he meant.

I shrug. "Sure; I guess." Why does he bother asking? I knew this was coming. He had mentioned tonight at dinner that he had a rather rough day at work. Said that nothing went right. He always asks that question when he has a hard day, trouble sleeping, or just some frustration to work off. I can read his moods a mile away now. Used to be unpredictable, unknowing as to what to come, exciting and thrilling. Gone.

"Okay." He starts with a quick peck on the lips. Absent are the days where he'd spend fifteen or even thirty minutes just kissing. I remember when he would just lay next to me and kiss me. He would explore my mouth, and I would do the same for him, seeking and hiding, having a nonverbal conversation. I could shut my eyes and recall every crevice of his mouth, every moan that escaped from him when I would push my tongue up against the sensitive part of his lip. I used to be able to draw up these memories with no effort. Now, I wonder what he would do if I were to run my tongue across his lower lip. What about the upper one? Was it still more sensitive to the touch?

I turn my head to the side as he pauses to push some hair off my shoulders. He lays another quick kiss there, and traces his way down my tank top. His other hand reaches from under the covers to work its way across my stomach. His wandering hand spans the width of my tummy and he pushes the cotton of my top up, across the shallow valley of my breasts. He cups the right one in a cold palm and I squirm away in discomfort. One palm covers the entirety of my breast. I've never been quite endowed in that area, but he's never complained and never made me worry that I was inadequate. He used to assure me that it didn't matter; he could make me climax simply from touching, caressing, and massaging my breasts. But now that I'm no longer doubtful, it seems like he doesn't feel the need to reassure me anymore. It only makes me question more. After all these years.

His mouth works my left breast. Perfunctory. A lazy mouth that does its job of getting me worked up enough for when he does the final act. It doesn't push me over the edge anymore; just tingles enough for me to feel turned on. Cold hands trail their way down my side, gripping my hips, and long fingers dip into my underwear. I shift my hips to help him out and in doing so I bump against the hardness in his boxers. He groans above me. I run my hand through his slightly damp hair, down his broad back, and settling on the backs of his thighs. I just leave them there. Not coaxing him forward, but not pushing him away either. He's pulling off my underwear, it's functional pale yellow cotton, and I lift my hips to help him. He's nuzzling my neck and sighs with a yawn. I turn my head to kiss the tip of his nose and he smiles sleepily at me. His expression is open. Nothing guarded, no hidden secrets. That once thrilled me. Unknown. His unknown. His mystery. Gone.

Tugging at his own boxers, he tosses them off to the side and I watch the landing. It's far away from where my underwear went. He adjusts his position from above me and I spread my legs, waiting for what was to certainly come. I wait patiently as he reaches for a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on himself. I used to do it for him. Loved the contrasting feeling of soft and hard. That used to puzzle me. How something could be hard but velvety soft, not loosing the sensation of either. Now he does it. Quick and efficient. He's reaching a hand between my legs and I let my eyes drift shut feeling searching fingers find that particular spot. He knows what gets me going and how to use it. I suppose that comes from years of being together. My body holds no secrets from him, and his from me. He knows the ending and all the twists and turns in between. We read like menus these days. We know what to order, how we'll get it, and how it'll end up. There are no surprises for us.

I sigh loudly as his hand finds that spot once again. He never misses to find that spot. Feeling another finger, I know he's close. His hands come to hold my hips, lifting them up gently in the air, and with a deep breath, he enters. And stills. If I close my eyes I can recall a time where he would pause right now and give me a grin. And a kiss. And another that would lead to more. Now, there's no grin. He's concentrating on the task at hand. Getting off. Both of us. Even to this day, he's concerned about that. He's not using me and I know it. I know it, and it brings a very small amount of comfort. Very small. Not enough.

Another thrust and he grunts. I tangle my hands into his hair and tug gently to get his attention. He's looking up at me and I wrap my legs around his waist in response. He takes a hold of my knees instead and pulls back to quickly lean forward and enter me again. I raise my head to look at him, and I reach between our bodies to grip him as he retracts. His eyes squeeze shut at the sensation and bucks hard into my firm grip. A couple pumps and he pulls out of my hand. He thrusts once more into me with a shudder and he's done. My body's still tingling and I realize that I'm not done. His heavy forehead drops on my shoulder, "Sorry."

With a kiss on his chin, "It's alright."

"Do you want me to…?" He trails off, but his hands have already made a path down my body. This never used to happen. Sure, he might have come before me, sometimes way before, but never used to ask to follow up. He would just take it upon himself to do so.

But I'm not up for it. "No, it's okay. I'm fine."

Raised eyebrows question me. "You sure?"

I smile in reassurance. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay." He leans in to kiss me and pulls back before either one of us can try to deepen it. Rolling onto his side of the bed, he faces me but doesn't touch. "'Night."

I pull the sheets up to cover my bare breasts, feeling oddly exposed and unclean, and I wrap the covers tighter around my body as if I could make myself whole again. "Goodnight."

* * *

"Hey." He greets me from the sink. He's wearing pants but no shirt. My eyes run over his back muscles and I miss that tingling feeling I used to get just seeing him parade around the apartment shirtless. He used to parade. Knew exactly what affect it had on me when he showed off his chest, but now he barely sleeps without a shirt anymore.

I smile in return. Gathering my hair into a bun, I wrap the elastic around, and pull the shower curtain. Hot water tumbles from the pipes and I listen to him brushing his teeth from behind. He rinses and wipes his mouth on his towel. Hanging it back up next to mine, it's all crooked and entirely not how it was last night when I had straightened it. I spy it and glare in his direction. He doesn't notice and uses his gel to finish off his hair. I shake my head and step under the spray of the water. It feels nice against tense muscles and I use my shower puff to lather up and watch the soapy bubbles play against my skin.

"I have to be at work early this morning." I barely hear him over the rattle of the water pipes.

"Okay." I continue to rinse off my body and then reach to undo my bun. Dipping my head back to catch the water, I feel wet hair attach to my back.

"So, I'll just see you tonight for dinner?"

"Can't. I'm going out with someone from work for drinks."

"Alright." The bathroom door closes with a muffled sound behind him. Remember when we couldn't even bear to be apart for a couple hours? Remember those text messages that were full of nonsense? Promising to be back within a certain amount of time? Messages that were full of longing and declarations of love? The only reason I remember those is because I've saved them on my phone. I don't look at them anymore. I know they're there and that's enough.

Finishing up in the shower, I grab my clothes that I've chosen beforehand and I run a brush hastily through my wet hair, letting the droplets fall on my back and cling to my shirt. My shoes are ready next to the clothes, and I slip on the heels as I grab my mascara from the dresser. Walking out into the living room, I see that he's left but had enough time to pour a cup of coffee for me. It's in my travel mug, cream and sugar already in, and it sits next to the muffin he laid out. My bag is on the counter with my breakfast, and I reach for the items. Taking a bite of the muffin, I hold it in my mouth as I lock the door and head down the corridor to the elevator.

* * *

"Gin and tonic please."

"So, Rory how's this month's issue coming?"

I look over at Jenny. "It's alright. I need to go over the ad space and review the editorials, but other than that, I think we're pretty much done. How goes the marketing department?"

"Great. Everything's handled. No worries." She takes a sip of her drink. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. I met a guy." She smiles mysteriously and leans closer to tell me as if it's a secret.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's great. Works for a law firm. But not very lawyer-y. Very hot. Dark hair, blue eyes, great build. I could just eat him up with a spoon."

I smile at her description. "Where did you two meet?"

"In line at a Starbucks. They screwed up our orders. Gave my drink to him, and his to me, and we just started talking. He bought me another latte because he had already had some of mine, and wrote his number on the cup. We went out last night. Dinner, movie, walk around the city. And a goodnight kiss that made my toes curl." She giggles.

I force a smile. I haven't been on a date with Jess in ages. Or had a kiss that had my toes curling. "That sounds great."

"Oh, you would love him Rory. He's smart but not showy about it. Can keep up a conversation, but didn't make me talk when there were silences. This could be the beginning of something. I'm sure of it."

I nod, but see out of the corner of my eye two guys approaching us at the bar. Unconsciously my eyes take in the length of one of the guys. Dark pants, dark button down shirt, broad shoulders, intense eyes, and messy hair. My body stirs at the sight. "Excuse me." They're leaning between Jenny and me and the dark one smiles at me. I smile back. "Can we buy you ladies some drinks?"

Jenny smiles her charming smile and nods in response. "Sure. I'm Jenny, this is Rory."

The dark one speaks. "Jim, and this is my friend Travis." Jim shakes my hand, and I flush on contact. He looks very much like Jess. "What can I get for you, Rory?"

I push aside my tonic and smile, "Martini. Dry."

"You got it." He orders and I see over his shoulder that Travis has sat down next to Jenny and her back is turned away from me, as she keeps up the conversation over her second cocktail. Jim takes the empty seat next to me. "One martini." He brandishes the newly ordered drink in front of me.

"Thanks."

"I think I've seen you around. You work a couple streets down? At the building across from that French café?"

I nod. "Yes, I work for a political magazine."

"I always wanted to know what business was done at that building. There are no markings or anything. It's a beautiful building." He smiles. "I have an interest in architecture." His finger reaches out surreptitiously and touches the skin of my elbow. I move just a fraction away from his touch.

"Yeah, it's beautiful. But a bit hidden in the shadows of other buildings downtown."

"Nah, I think hidden is wonderful. Makes a person seek for beauty. I like to look beneath the surface. Obvious isn't my style." He moves closer to me.

I lean back and this time, it's apparent that I've done so. I shouldn't be here. I certainly shouldn't be doing this. "Thanks for the drink. It was nice to meet you Jim. I've got to be going."

He looks up at me in a lurch. "Wait…"

I smile and shrug on my jacket.

"Could I call you sometime?"

Reaching for my purse, I shake my head. "I don't think that's a good idea." I walk the couple steps to Jenny, "I'm going home. See you on Monday."

She looks jarred, but leaves me. "Okay, have a nice weekend then."

* * *

I close the door softly behind me and see that he's watching television in the dark. The channels occasionally flip from CNN, to the Cartoon Network, to Nick at Nite. I turn on the lights and he cranes his head over the couch to see the disturbance. "Hey."

I drop my purse on the kitchen counter. "Hey, you." Opening the door to the fridge I grab a box of juice and stick in the straw. Taking a gulp, I make my way to the couch to join him. I flop down and look over at him.

He turns down the volume. "How was your night?"

"Fine." I think about the bar. The modern design of the counter, the metal counter coming into contact with my flushed skin, and the dark, dark eyes of that stranger who approached me. The guy who came and I didn't refuse.

"Lorelai called earlier. I told her you were out and that you'd call her tomorrow." He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.

I'm surprised by the action, something that he hasn't done in a while, and I snuggle into his shoulder. "Okay. Thanks. Did she say anything in particular?"

"Not really. Told me about her newest cravings. Pickles and a fried peanut butter sandwich with bananas. She's going to make that kid crazy when it comes out."

I smile. "That's my little sister you're talking about." I poke his stomach.

"It's a good thing Luke owns a diner. Or else she wouldn't be supplied with a constant stream of food."

I laugh. "Yeah, good thing." I wrap my free arm around his stomach and squeeze. He drops a kiss on the crown of my head and I look up at him. He's being uncommonly affectionate. It's like we've gone back to the beginning of our relationship. "You okay?"

He smiles his lazy carefree smile at me. "Yeah. I'm great." He leans in to kiss me and I tilt my head up as an offering. He's holding me tight against him and the remote falls to the floor with a thud. He must have knocked it over. Hands are moving their way into my hair, and pull their way through the tangles. He's positioning me over him and I straddle his lap as he continues to kiss me. Hot, wet tongue work its way down my neck and he's pausing to suck at my jaw.

I let my head fall to the side and suddenly the guy from the bar's face pops into my vision. I blink away the sight, but he's still there. Gripping tighter to Jess, I sink my fingers down into his clavicle and he turns to give attention to the other side of my neck. Dark hair comes into my line of sight, but I see someone else's face instead. It's Jim's face that I'm picturing, and I pull back abruptly from Jess. "Sorry."

His hair is a horrible mess and he looks concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing." I'm quick to respond. "I'm just…tired."

He leans back onto the couch and runs his hands up my thighs. "You sure?"

Instead of turning me on, he's doing exactly the opposite. And I know it's entirely my fault. My mind is not where it should be, and I can't get it back into the right place. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just going to go to bed."

He lets me climb off of him without another word, and as I turn the corner into our bedroom, I turn around. His face is hidden behind his hands and he's leaning back on the couch. I sigh.

* * *

He lifts off the covers on his side of the bed, and I glance over, pausing my reading. He looks over at me and studies me. I'm growing uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. "What?" I ask.

"Something happen tonight?"

Shock shuts my mouth. I shake my head. "No, what makes you ask?"

"You just seem…off."

"Nothing's wrong."

His eyebrows hop up and he shrugs. "Okay." Flopping on his back he pushes himself up to a sitting position and grabs his book from under the bed. The turns to his dog-eared page and begins to read.

"Jess?"

He doesn't look up from his reading. "Yeah?"

I loose my nerve. "Nothing."

Not paying much attention to me, he continues reading his latest novel. I mark my place in my book and return it to the nightstand. Looking around the room, I take in the surroundings. It's clean, but I see the hamper's getting full. We'll have to do laundry tomorrow. Picture frames litter the dresser, and I get sad thinking of those happy times. There's one of us from graduation. His graduation. I'm in a flowery dress that flows around my knees and he's grinning in his cap and gown. The picture in the heavy silver frame holds the two of us on the Empire State Building. He's hugging me and I had held out the camera at arm's length to capture the New York skyline behind us. His face is buried in my neck, but dark eyes peek up at the camera. He's not smiling, but his eyes shine. I have a wide grin spreading across my face and I can still remember him teasing me about cutting the side of our faces out of the picture. It had taken me three failed attempts to finally get it right. There's another one of us in our apartment the day we moved in. I'm in overalls and he's in a dirty t-shirt, but we have arms wrapped around each other as we cuddled on the couch. He had set the timer on the camera and placed it on the table. It captured us right as he leaned in for a kiss.

Bringing me out of my daydream, he turns off his side of the light. Adjusting his pillow beneath his head, he turns away from me and draws the covers higher.

"'Night Jess."

He nods in return.

* * *

"Did you eat all the leftovers?" I call from the kitchen.

From his place on the couch, he asks, "What?"

I roll my eyes but wait as he turns down the television. "I said, did you eat all the leftovers?"

"You mean the pizza?"

"And that pasta we had the other night."

"Yeah, I ate that." He turns to face me. "Sorry, did you want some?"

"Yeah, I wanted some. There's nothing to eat."

He makes a face at my statement. "There's still some of that chicken that I made last night. You haven't eaten that yet. You were out at that bar." His eyes are hard as he says that last bit, but I choose to gnore it.

I just turn back to the fridge to pull out the plate. Popping it into the microwave, I pour a cup of coffee as I wait for it to finish. The television returns to its normal volume and I shake my head as I grab a fork from the drawer. Sitting down at the table with the plate of food and my cup of coffee, I open the newspaper and flip through the first couple of pages. The phone is ringing. "Can you get it?"

"The phone's not here."

I turn. "What do you mean, it's not here?"

"I mean it's not in its cradle by the couch. Where did you leave it?"

"How should I know? I wasn't the last to use the phone. You were."

"Well, I always put it back into the cradle. So obviously you used it last."

I widen my eyes at that statement, but he can't see me. "Can you just look for it?"

"Why can't you?" His eyes are still trained onto the television screen. "I don't care about who's calling. Probably some telemarketer."

I rub my eyes and pause to listen to the machine as it picks up. The caller hangs up.

"See, told you."

I grit my teeth and return to my food.

* * *

"You want a sandwich to take to work?"

I pause as I do the dishes and look at him. "What kind?"

"Roast beef."

"No thanks." I prefer turkey.

"Alright." He goes back to making his sandwich and drops the dirty knife and plate into the soapy water as he bags his lunch for tomorrow.

I grip the plate hard and watch him moving around the kitchen as I clean off the mayo and bits of lettuce from the surface. Scrubbing the dish, I deposit it into the dishwasher and continue onto the skillet that he had used this morning to make us eggs.

"Did we run out of yogurt?"

I ask, "Any in the fridge?"

"No."

I roll my eyes. "Then yes, we ran out."

He kicks the door closed with his foot and turns to me, "Thanks for the clarification."

Ignoring his sarcasm, I turn my attention back to the dishes. He's done with his lunch and walks out into the living room to sit back down on the couch. He turns on the stereo and sounds of The Clash fills our apartment. It's giving me a headache but I don't complain. I just finish up the dishes. Closing the door to the dishwasher, I pass by him on the couch without a glance or word and I step into the bathroom.

Pulling off my clothes, I turn on the taps and watch the water fill the tub. Pouring some bubble bath, it froths and I twist my ponytail higher to keep hair out of my face. Stepping into the hot water, I sink down and bend my knees until they poke up through the surface of the water. I sigh and let my head fall to the side of the tub. Hot water lap at my body, relaxing muscles and I close my eyes to give into the sensation. With eyes closed and distant sounds of The Clash filling my head, I think about the times that we've shared a bath. Not a shower, but a long bath.

The first time had been when I had finals at Yale. He came over to my dorm and stayed the night, but found me out of bed in the middle of the night, pouring over my notes. I had been completely stressed out and he had been unable to coax me back into bed. Suddenly he left and went into the adjoining bathroom where I heard the sound of water running. Curious, I had left my desk to see what he was up to. He had lit a couple of candles and was bare-chested, ready to step into the tub. The bathroom light was out and he stretched a hand out to me. Pulling me close to his body, he tugged my hair out of its ponytail and drew my shirt off my body. He stepped into the bath first and sat me down on top of him. Instead of pushing me into the inevitable, he had just sat there with his arms around my lower back, hands massaging tight muscles. I leaned into his touch and wrapped wet arms around his neck. Licking off the water that had accumulated at his neck, he had groaned so loudly that it practically vibrated off the walls of that bathroom. He had shook his head at his own unexpected response, but I had only continued to suck harder, delighted at his reaction. That night we made love in that tiny tub and had discovered just how hard it was to do so. Most of the water had ended up on the floor and we had left the mess for the morning. We tumbled back into bed, tangled up with arms, legs, and covers. Thoroughly relaxed, I aced my final the next morning.

I hear the stereo being turned off, and I lift up my head as I hear him approaching the bathroom. He knocks.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Okay."

He opens the door and glances quickly over to me. He smiles, but turns to the sink. He's washing his hands and my heart and memories sink as he just looks over at me once. His gaze didn't even linger. There once was a time where he would get all riled up just looking at me fully clothed. Now, even when I'm wet and obviously naked, I can't even be graced with a second look. I sit up in the tub, revealing my chest above the water, and I feel some suds collect at my breasts. Looking over at the sound, his eyes flick over my upper body. I smile inwardly at the small triumph. But just as quickly as I assume that I've won, he looks away again. He's drying his hands on his towel and leaves it all crumpled on the hook. I make a face. Softly shutting the door behind him, I drop back into the tub, defeated and angry.

* * *

**AN:** Read and review. Thanks.


	2. Mutually Exclusive

**Used To Be**

Chapter 2: Mutually Exclusive

Author: Knowhere

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The idea, concept, and other miscellaneous belong to me.

**AN:** I've gotten a kick out of how many people have left reviews (tentatively) pointing out that it was sad or depressing. I like to write sad and depressing sometimes, you know. I like realism and sometimes it's not always filled with laughter wrapped up in shiny paper.

But, as I've said, remember that this was written years ago and therefore won't 'sound' the same as my recent stuff.

Good news though: I have the latest chapter of _Gradual_ almost ready. Needs cleaning up but should be ready in a handful of days!

Summary: Literati. They're on a plateau, no ups or downs, no excitement or joy. They learn that complacency is not the best position to be in. AU.

* * *

He kisses the side of my neck once, and continues his downward path. My hands are resting by my side and I just turn my head to the side, looking at him as he runs warm palm against the tops of my thighs. I sigh and just wait for what's to come. His eyes flick up and catch my expression and for a second, I think that he looks disappointed.

I lay still and think of the time when we made love during a rainstorm. We were visiting Mom and Luke and stayed in the newly empty apartment above the diner. Luke had just moved in with Mom and we used the diner apartment as our own personal hotel room whenever we visited. Jess was helping out in the diner that day when it had started to rain. I had just come back from shopping with Mom when the storm started to pick up speed. Heavy with shopping bags, I headed up the stairs to change and when I was doing so, I heard someone step into the small apartment. Jess stood there in the doorway, with an unreadable expression on his face, and his stare was so intense that I gaped at him. He smirked lightly and dropped his look, but crossed the length of the room in several large strides. Catching me by the couch, we tumbled down together, landing all crooked and tangled. I had laughed and he grunted as my hand deliberately passed by the erection that was appearing in his jeans. I kissed the side of his neck and asked him what was going on. He had just shrugged, and replied, "I just missed you." I had only been gone for five hours.

He kissed me thoroughly on the couch, alternating between hot, wet kisses, to gentle, sweet ones that made me sigh in anticipation. We stayed like that for a half an hour on the couch just kissing. Neither of us lost any clothing in those thirty minutes and we just enjoyed each other with hurrying into sex. Later on, as the rain beat down on the windows, thunder rolled into the mix and I buried my face into the soft fabric of his shirt. He cradled my head gently between his hands and whispered that it was going to be all right. That day, he didn't make fun of me for being afraid of a storm. He just held me on the couch and eventually, his soothing caresses turned into something more. Another half hour passed and we were lying comfortably with each other, naked and satisfied in his old bed. I snuggled into his arms, and he placed my head on his chest. He played with my fingers, lacing them with his, and kissed each one. Hair was matted to my back and he tried to comb through the tangles with his bare fingers. He turned to look at me and just smiled. I ran my free hand down the length of him and made his gasp again as I reached the sensitive part of his hip.

Right now he's holding my waist, readying us for the final act. I don't smile and I don't help him because I'm still trapped in my memories. Memories of what we used to have, what we used to do, and what we used to be. I spread my legs for him, but it's all done as routine. I know he'll enter me slowly at first and then still himself as I adjust. I know he'll give me about three seconds and then pull back. I know all of this. I close my eyes tightly and clench, feeling that I need more than this. I need what we used to have. I need something else. And suddenly, I don't feel him enter me. He's just stopped. He's staring at me.

"What is it?" His gruff voice breaks my thoughts.

"What?" I ask softly.

Dropping his hold on my hips, and my lower body falls down. "You. You're just…" He gestures with his hands.

"I'm what?"

He's abandoned his place by the foot of the bed and crawls back under the covers on his side. He turns to me as he sits halfway up, leaning on the headboard. "You're not here."

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm here."

He shakes his head sadly. "No, you're not. What's with you lately?"

"With me? What do you mean?"

"I mean you always zone out whenever we're in bed. Your eyes always glaze over as if you're thinking about something else."

You're right. I am thinking about something else. Someone else. Someone that you used to be. "I'm not thinking about anything else."

He scoffs, but still keeps his voice at a low volume. "_Someone_ else then?"

My eyes widen at the accusation and I know he's not entirely in the wrong. "No, no one else."

"Then you have to help me out here, Rory. What's going on with you? Every time I kiss you lately, you pull back or you just accept the kiss as if you were accepting an assignment. You just stay there and lie still until it's finished."

I chuckle dryly. "And when have you bothered to kiss me?"

"What?" He's hurt. "I always kiss you."

"Yeah, when you want sex. You give me a quick peck on the lips and then move down."

He's squinting as he processes what I just said. "When I do kiss you other then when we have sex, you're always the one pulling away. Yesterday, I tried to kiss you when we were eating dinner and you made some excuse to wash the dishes."

"That doesn't count. I was trying to eat dinner."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, sorry. So tell me, what does count as me kissing you?"

"You just don't get it! I'm not keeping count, Jess. But nothing's the same anymore."

"Yeah, I know. I've known for months. I know every time I have to initiate sex, or every time you walk away when I try to hug you. Yeah, I know."

"Don't pin this all on me. I'm not the only one who pulls away. You never want to talk anymore. Never. You don't feel like talking after work, and you don't feel like talking over dinner, and you certainly don't feel like talking when we're sitting in bed. You're never here in this relationship anymore!"

"I'm not in this relationship? Excuse me for having a rough time at work. But do you see me coming home and dumping all my problems on you, do you?"

"Are you saying that I dump my problems on you?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not saying that."

"I don't even know what's going on with you anymore, Jess. I have no freaking idea. You never open up. Never."

"It's a bit hard to open to my girlfriend who doesn't even want to sleep with me."

"When have I ever refused to sleep with you?"

"You don't have to refuse for me to catch on that you're not into it. You lay there still as a statue whenever I try to start things up. You just sit back and make me do all the work."

"How can I be in the mood when I can't even connect with you? How do you expect me to want to have sex with you?"

He leans forwards. "And how can you expect me to want to connect if you don't want to sleep with me?"

I fling my hands up in the air. "I can't be turned on when I don't even know what's happening with you. Why can't you just be like you used to be?"

"And what would that be?" He spits out that sentence in disgust.

"Loving. You used to want me for the smallest reasons."

"And you used to jump on me when I walked through the door after work because you couldn't wait to see me."

I roll my eyes. "Just because I don't maul you these days, doesn't mean that I don't come to you."

"Oh really?" He raises an eyebrow. "When in the last couple months have you ever, ever come to me for sex? No, it's always a fight because I forgot to go grocery shopping, or I drank the last of the coffee, or you need me to kill a spider."

"Grow up Jess." I huff. "You're the one who's concentrating on sex. And that's not the problem here."

He scoffs. "I think it's a big problem when you don't want to have sex with me. Listen to yourself, Rory. Sex. That's what it's come down to. Sex. Remember when you used to call it making love? You used to hate it when I said we had sex. You said it belittled it. Said that it didn't do it justice because the word sex sounded too casual."

I raise my voice. "You want to talk about _making love_?" I mock his words. "How about foreplay then, Jess? Remember what that is? You used to just kiss me for twenty minutes without even trying to take off my shirt. Now, you kiss and move down to my breasts. All done in less than ten minutes."

He tilts his head. "Are you saying it's my fault?"

"Well, I'm not the one who has reduced sex into a routine. I'm not the one who's emotionally cut off from everything."

"You're not the one who's emotionally cut off?" It's his turn to mock me. "I think that's exactly what you are. I don't even know what the hell is going through your mind anymore. I sit here in the apartment after I come home, eating dinner by myself, while you're off bar hopping with people from work."

"Bar hopping?" I yell. "It's just been a couple of times."

"A couple of times that don't end until late at night." He turns his head to the side.

"What about all those times I put up with when we were younger? All those times you went out with your people from work? With those girls who fawned over you?"

He makes a face and looks down at his lap. "I stopped going out with them as soon as I realized how much it was bothering you. And it was just the first month or so when I got my job. You know that I needed to work my way up the company. And I manage new authors for the publishing house. I need to get out there. You know damn sure that I was working, and not flirting with some girl."

"Oh, really? I'm sure?"

He yells. "Yes Rory. You're sure. I've never been unfaithful in all these years we've been together. Never. I've never even once caused you to question me. _Never_."

Guilt shuts my mouth. I can't push this subject because I know I shouldn't have accepted that guy's looks and drinks last weekend at that bar with Jenny. It didn't happen often, but when it did, I never refused the drinks from a stranger. Never.

He shakes his head. "I need more, Rory." His voice has strangely returned to its normal volume.

My head whips around. "_I_ need more, Jess."

"How can I give more when you don't seem to want it?" He turns and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. Searching around, he slips on his boxers and rummages through the hamper for a rumpled pair of jeans. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt, he foregoes the t-shirt and pulls the garment over his bare chest. Checking to see that his wallet is in the back pocket, I hear him walk out of the apartment and close the door with a bang.

* * *

It's midnight. He had left this morning at nine o'clock. It has been almost fifteen hours since our fight and his exit out of the apartment. I haven't done a single thing the entire day. This Saturday was full of plans. I had a list. I needed to do our laundry. I barely had anything to wear to work yesterday. I needed to go grocery shopping, and to look for a new cell phone plan. My contract is about to expire next week. Instead of checking off each item off my post-it note, I've done nothing but pad around the apartment all day. It's a gloomy day outside. I can see through the window that people are walking around with heavy coats, scarves wrapped tightly around to keep from the winter chill.

I've done nothing but sit on the couch. Instead of eating, I went through my box in the back of the closet. I keep things from Jess in there. A dried rose that he had given me on one of our dates. It's practically falling apart now. There are some notes that he left in my books, and I read every single one. I thought about the memories, about what we had shared, what he had expressed to me. I sifted through his little gifts, movie stubs, and other keepsakes that are valuable to me but worthless to anyone else. The box was dusty as I opened it this afternoon, and I can't remember the last time I added anything into it.

Now I'm sitting on the floor of our bedroom. Slumped to the side, leaning against the wall, I've been sitting here for the last hour. I'm torn with anger and frustration. How could he accuse me of being emotionally unavailable to him? He's the one who's been checked out of our relationship for the last couple of months. How dare he say that I've refused to sleep with him? How dare him say it when he's the one who's been absent?

I make a face. He is the one at fault, right? Isn't he?

Can it be…? Could it be my fault?

Here in the darkness of my room, I can't lie to myself. I know for a fact that I have been ignoring him. I haven't been exactly fair to him, but how could he not understand me? How could he not? I can't give sex or even love without feeling loved first. I can't have sex without love. I just can't.

* * *

I pick up my head off the arm of the couch as I hear the door open quietly. I don't sit up but I can hear him dropping his keys on the kitchen counter. He's sighing and I hear him opening the door of the fridge as the distinctive clink of the bottle of beer is opened. I inch up on my elbows and glance up over the edge of the sofa. I've caught his attention.

He stops the bottle an inch from his lips and sets it down on the counter.

Shyly and hesitantly, "Hi."

"Hey."

"Where have you been?"

Shrugging, "Just walking around the city." He's approaching the couch and I make room for him. He plops down with an audible grunt. "What did you do all day?"

Our conversation is…odd. It's like nothing happened this morning. And yet, we're talking about it. We're both eerily calm about all of this. "Nothing. I didn't do anything today."

He looks over at me. Dark eyes very sad. "Nothing?"

"No." I shift my weight and bring up my legs to cross them. "I went through my box." There's no need to elaborate what I mean. He knows what box. He used to tease me about hiding it in the back of the closet. He used to ask if I was ashamed of him. Laughing, I would tell him no and playfully slap him on the shoulder. "I haven't seen it in awhile."

Shaking his head, "Me neither."

"So you walked around the city?"

"Yeah. I stopped by Washington Square Park, sat there and just stared at people. Didn't even realize it was late until it was dark. Then I just got up and walked."

I didn't even hear him. "Jess…is it, I mean…is it me?"

He's looking away. "Yes."

"Oh." My heart sinks.

"And no." Running a weary hand through his already messy hair, he turns to glance at me. "It's not just you. And not just me. Rory, you have to realize that this isn't one person's fault. Even though you were pinning it on me earlier, people like us couldn't have gotten into this situation if both of us weren't actively participating in the problem."

My anger flares up. "Just how do you think I've participated in this problem?" I don't care that a minute ago I was ready to hear that it was my fault. It's one thing to say myself that I was at fault; it's another to be told that.

"You're selfish."

"I'm what?" I raise my voice.

"Selfish." He doesn't match my volume. "How can you expect things from me when you don't give me what I need in return?"

I snap. "And what is it that you need in return? More _sex_?" I bite that last question. It's a low blow, but I can't help it.

"That's unfair. And you know it's not true."

"How can I know that's not true? You keep bringing it up!"

And suddenly, he explodes. "So what if it's true then! So what? Just what the hell do you want from me, huh?"

"I need to feel _loved_!" I shout. "I need more than what we have now! I need what we had before. Love, Jess, love!"

"And how the hell can I love you if you keep shrinking away from me?"

"How can I stop shrinking away from you if you don't love me?"

I've hit a nerve. "I _love_ you, damn it! I fucking love you! I never said I didn't love you. Never did those words come out of my mouth."

"How can I know that when you don't show it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Ditto, Rory. How can I know that you still love me when you don't show it?" He pauses. "Do you still love me?"

I sigh explosively.

"Do you? It's not a hard question, Rory? Do you love me or not?"

"I…" I do love you Jess. So much it hurts. I love you so much that I let this situation eat me up. If I didn't, I wouldn't get so worked up about all of this. If I didn't love you then I would be fine with the way things are. I do love you. I love you so much. "I…"

I've never seen him so pained. He pulls back and prepares to stand. He turns to look down at me, and I'm horrified to see tears glistening in the dim lighting of our living room. I've never seen him cry. Not even close to it. I've seen him choke up at a funeral for a childhood friend, I've seen him almost loose it when he saw his mother in the hospital after a car accident, I've seen him emotional, but never seen him with tears. They're gathering up at the corner of his eyes, but they don't fall. He won't let them. Slowly, he stands. Softly, he speaks. So softly, "I can't believe you just said that."

Stuttering, "I…I…didn't say anything."

"Exactly."

* * *

The clock on the stereo tells me it's 3:36 A.M. There is just a single light on in the living room. The one by the arm of the couch. I haven't bothered to close the window yet and I just shiver, feeling the cold air brush across my skin. The faint sounds of the city waft through. I hear the wail of a siren heading downtown, I hear the call of a neighbor to a stray dog to stop barking, I hear a car alarm go off in the distant, but I hear the thumping of my heart the most.

It beats. Pulses. Hard. Thumps against my ribcage so much that I think it might burst. It hurts. So much. I curl forward on the couch and I realize that I'm not having a heart attack at the age of twenty-seven. No, I'm experiencing heartbreak. My heart is literally breaking. I can't believe that I couldn't screw up the courage just to tell him that I do still love him. How hard can that be? I was the one who always pushed for him to say it. Back then I had pushed but ended up waiting until he just blurted I out unexpectedly one day over an ice cream cone. We were eating ice cream on a hot, muggy, New York summer day, and while I licked the dribble on my cone, he just blurted out 'I love you.' With my shocked face, he just looked down at his shoes and pretended that he hadn't said it. We pretended for the rest of that day. Until we got back to his apartment and loafed around on his couch. The television had been muted and he just turned to me and said, "I meant it you know? I love you." I had smiled and kissed him in gratitude.

He doesn't say it much. In all these years, he might have said it less than a handful of times. But I've never doubted whether he did or not. That is, never doubted him until lately. But he had no problem saying it just now. The words just slipped out of his mouth, honestly, truthfully. Unlike me. I couldn't even say it back to him. Even when he asked pointblank whether or not I loved him.

I'm upset. Angry with myself for not seeing how our relationship was spiraling downwards, out of my control. Angry that I can't seem to do anything right these days. Angry that I even let it get this far. Why didn't I say anything about it earlier? Did I subconsciously want to let the problem fester? Had I even seen that there was a problem? Was it the ostrich syndrome where I thought that if I hid my face, emotions, and fears that the problem would magically disappear? I'm angry that I couldn't just say that I loved him. Why couldn't I just say what I had felt? Why was it so hard? Why is it still so hard? I'm angry with myself for even being angry.

I'm upset with him for not understanding that I need love for sex. I can't have one without the other. Love must stand in front of sex, not the other way around. They are not mutually exclusive. I'm angry with him for letting this problem fester. I'm angry with him just as much as I'm angry with myself. If he had felt that it was a mutual problem, why did he let it get so carried away? He hadn't blamed me, something I didn't do for him. I blamed him all this time for our problem. But he had made it clear that it was our problem. Ours. Not mine, and not his. Ours. If he had felt like that, why would he wait so long?

My brain is buzzing with activity. It's buzzing with anger. With guilt. I just can't pinpoint where everything went wrong.

* * *

He's sitting near the same spot where I spent most of today. Tucked away next to the corner of the wall, hidden by the dresser. I can only see him legs poking through. The dresser covers the rest of him. His legs are bent, bare feet flat on the carpet. He hides from his problems. Literally. He used to hide in closets as a child, when fights with him mom got to be too much. He used to hide in his tiny bedroom closet, spending most of his day in there, reading and sleeping. He's older now. But he can't run from old habits. He hides on the floor of our room. I wondered initially why he didn't choose to back the dresser up, fully against the corner of the room. But he had left a space between the wall and the dresser on purpose. It's large enough to hide him. Partially hide him from the world. But it's enough. Enough room for him to run away and tuck himself into his own world where problems don't exist. He doesn't sulk when he's sitting there. He doesn't fester the problem until it grows so large that he can't contain it. He sits there to escape. I have no idea what runs through his brain when he's there, but more than once he's come out of that space, not realizing that we were in a fight at all. Sometimes, thirty minutes spent there in his tucked away space is all he needs to calm down. It's not healthy, and I know it. He pretends that problems don't exist. But I leave him to it. He might pretend that he's not going through something when he's hiding, but he faces them head on once he stands up. Once he leaves that space, he's ready once again to deal with the problem. He temporarily hides from the world to get a grip, but he handles his stress when he returns back to reality.

I had tried it today while I waited for him to come back. I tried it myself. But I just concentrated on the problem and didn't feel anything but the tears that fell from my eyes and gathered on my lap. It had been an unsuccessful attempt to forget about everything. I couldn't do it. Not even for a moment. I moved from his spot and sat on the couch.

I've never disturbed him in his space. Never. I've wanted to in the past; I've wanted him to come out earlier so that we could talk, but never had the courage to do so. Partly because I respected him enough to understand his need to be alone, but also because I needed that time to myself as well.

But now, I wonder just exactly how long he's been sitting there. I approach him cautiously. I walk along the edge of the bed, staying about three feet away from him. His head is bowed, shoulders drooping and I want to cry for him. He hears my movement and picks up his head slowly to look at me. His eyes are dry but red. He clenches his jaw, and I see the muscles tense. They don't relax. I sit down on the carpet, Indian style, as if I were in kindergarten with my back against the nightstand. I face him across the room. He's staring at me. Hard. My eyes dart around the room trying to avoid the weight of his gaze. He's unnerving when he stares like that. Dark eyelashes close over even darker eyes, and he props up his head using a fist. His bent elbow rests on a denim-covered knee. Head is pushed against the wall, and for a moment he raises his chin but drops it back down.

Softly, oh-so softly, I speak. "I love you."

"Do you?" His question has no heat. No passion. It's just a question.

"Yes."

He picks at the carpet by his foot and nods.

"I…" I grip the carpet at my sides. "I need more Jess."

He bows his head. "I know." Looking up, "I need more too."

Nodding, I accept his answer. "I just feel like we've lost touch. I feel like we're together but apart at the same time. And I'm not blaming you for it. I know I'm responsible too."

"And what is it you need?"

"I need to feel like I'm wanted. I need love _before_ I can give sex. I don't even feel like I'm sexy to you anymore. It's like I'm an old habit."

"You're not an old habit." He swallows, "I just don't know how to connect with you lately. You're off somewhere else."

I bite my nails. "Yes, I know. I haven't really been here. That'll change; I promise, Jess."

"Okay." There's a faint curling of the corner of his lips.

"What about you?"

He's closing his eyes as he speaks. "I need _you_, Rory. I need you. If you feel like an old habit, I feel like I'm a duty that you expect to perform. I need to you to want me as well. Being with me isn't supposed to be work. Yes, we work at making our relationship function, but simply being with me should be just that. Simple. A choice that you don't need to think about. I need your love physically just to feel it emotionally. When you check out of your body, you're checking me out of my emotional."

I've never heard him speak like this before. "I…didn't know that."

He smiles sadly. "No." He drops his crossed arms to his side. "I didn't know about you either. I just thought that if I was here, then it would be enough."

"It's a start. I know it's hard for you, Jess. But sometimes, it's not enough."

"Okay."

The conversation pauses around us and we just stop to listen to our own individual heartbeats. Well, at least that's what I'm doing. He just looks like he's doing the same thing. Slowly, he turns to look at me. Not moving anything but his arm, he stretches out to me. Inviting me into his space.

I smile. Getting up, my knees crack from sitting, and I cross the length of the room in several short steps. Taking his hand in mine, I tangle our fingers together. It's been a while since we've held hands like this. Tugging my hand with considerable force, I land in his lap. It's not where I expected to be. Startled, just a little, I fall into his embrace and wrap my arms around his chest tightly. He buries his face into the side of my neck and I tremble as I feel him lay a soft kiss there. It's so gentle, I feel like I dreamt it. But I know it is real.

He circles my body with strong arms, and holds me close to his own. It's awkward sitting here in his hidden space, but I don't complain. This is becoming more intimate than all the times we've had sex in the last several months put together. I snuggle into his chest even further, and his left arm comes to hold my knees. He's resting his palm on my right knee, across my body, and cups the joint gently in his hand. Tilting my head up, I catch him looking down at me and I smile once again. Using his free hand, his forefinger lifts my head even further. He takes his time; slowly, tantalizingly, he descends on my mouth. The kiss is feather light and I sigh into his closed mouth. I let him kiss me like this for several long minutes. We're getting reacquainted with each other, with each other's bodies, and the kiss drags out. The kiss is closed mouthed, but he speaks with his lips. Shy lips are massaging mine, telling me just what he feels. But he's taking his time. One of my hands drifts up from his thigh to his chest, and I stroke the muscles there, through the fabric of his shirt. He's sighing into my lips and I feel the air pass between us. But he still doesn't open the kiss. The hand that was supporting my back now comes to rest on my neck, fingers brushing the apple of my cheek.

Impatient, I use my other hand to touch his face. I feel the hard angles, feeling the line of his jaw. I cup my hand there and tug. Feeling him smile against me, I realize in the back of my mind that it's the first time he's smiled. He's finally opening his mouth and I shift my hips on his to thank him. His tongue comes out for a quick taste and it disappears once again. But his mouth is open on mine. Hot and demanding. The kiss started out as a sign of comfort, but it's seeking for something new. I respond. I push harder into his chest and lick his upper lip. He groans next to me and grips my arms tighter. I smile into him as I realize that his upper lip is still just as sensitive. The first touch of our tongues is electric; he tries to pull back but I refuse. I chase his lips and he's unable to move because his head bumps the wall. Trapped between my body and the corner of the room, I turn my body so that I'm no longer sitting across his lap. I straddle him instead. Surprised, I catch him off guard and I lean in for the continuation of the kiss. My hands frame his face, feeling the stubble there, and I grip his jaw to open his mouth once more.

He's feeling his way through the kiss. Lips, tongue, and just a hint of teeth. He's showing me just how frustrated he's been through all of this and he nips my bottom lip. Upon feeling his teeth, I jerk, and he soothes the pain with his tongue. His arms are no longer circling my back; they're gripped hard on my backside instead. I rock into his hips as I feel his hands and the kiss reflects his feelings. He's kissing me harder now, and I kiss back with a matched ferocity. My hands are lost in his hair, and I feel his curls in between my fingers. Leaning down, I feel him tilting his head back as far as possible, offering everything he has to me. My hands are leaving his face, trailing their way down his neck and I slip a finger beneath the collar of his shirt. He grunts and pushes me back. Stripping out of the shirt himself, he throws it over my shoulders but doesn't move from his sitting position. And I don't move from my perch on top of him. I watch the play of hard muscles as they twitch when I touch them, and it delights me to find that I can still affect him like this.

He's pulling me into our kiss again, but I'm desperate to feel my bare skin on his. Before he can pull me entirely back into his embrace, I grab the bottom of my shirt and draw it off myself. His eyes darken at the sight and I unhook my bra. Slipping it down my shoulders, I see him lick his lips. Damn, that's sexy. He looks up and as his eyes connect with mine, I'm surprised to find that he's shy. A hand reaches towards my bare chest, but stops before fingers can come into contact. I lean forward and nod, feeling him finally cup each hand on my breasts. My head lolls back and I hiss. My own hands come up to stroke his chest and I rub against his hips even more. Fabric still separates us on the bottom, but neither one of us seems extremely eager to break our current position. Long fingers are tugging at my hardened nipples and I rock harder into him. We continue like this for several long moments. He tugs and I retaliate by rocking into his hips, feeling his arousal pulsing against his pants.

Warm hands reach around and rest flat against my shoulder blades and to bring me closer in contact with him. I brace my hands against the wall behind him and I feel useless, not finding find anything to grip. He's taking my right breast into his mouth, no longer a lazy job like before. He's working my breast gently, alternating sucking and licking the underside of my nipple. He knows just what that does to me and I moan loudly. I drop my hands from the wall to the back of his head, and I urge him closer. His mouth increase in friction and I practically squeal, feeling him suckle. I feel his other hand come up to play with the left breast but he doesn't abandon the one in his mouth. Hand and mouth are working my chest and I pull on his hair to try to relieve some of the tension. It's building. My climax. Deliciously hard and sharp, I can see the end spiraling towards me, but it's still elusive. "Jess…"

Noting my need, he hums against my skin and it sets me off. I scream into the stillness of the room but he doesn't pull away from me. My end is explosive and as I come off the edge, I feel him slowly ease out of his touch. He isn't actively working my breast anymore; instead he's gently mouthing my skin as a sign of comfort. Pulling away, he looks up at my face but not before kissing my skin one last time. I smile and bend down to hug him. Brushing hair off my face, he smiles up into me and leans forward once again to kiss my bare shoulder. He doesn't pull away this time; instead he uses his nose to trace a path from one freckle to another. I giggle.

He smirks. I reach between our bodies to seek for him, but find that he's come as well. He leans back against the wall, and runs his hands along my back as he speaks, "All I had to do was watch you."

I blush. "Do you want me to…?" And this time, when that question is asked, it sounds so different. It was shy.

He shakes his head. "No." He's very sleepy all of a sudden. "It was more than I could ask for. It was great."

I cuddle into his bare chest. "Yeah, great."

"It was the scream that did it for me." He cradles my neck in his hands.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

I suddenly realize what we've been through today. It all comes crashing back into me. "Jess, are we…I mean, are we okay?"

He doesn't answer me. Silence invades our space. Quietly, "I think…we will be."

"It'll take time."

He nods against my skin. "We'll work at it."

I feel him gently stroking my side as I snuggle into his familiar scent and wonder just how much this will actually impact us in the long run. Will we remember this fight a week from now? A year? Six years? How much time did we just buy with this conversation? Or maybe we didn't buy any time. We just stole some. And I can't help but wonder if down the road when we fight again and forget about this conversation…will we be so lucky and end up in each other's arms again?

Or will it be the end?

* * *

**AN: ** I originally toyed with the idea that they couldn't work things out in the end, culminating in divorce. I've never written story quite like that before. That's why this story was left alone for a few years. I never got the feeling quite right. However, as you can read, I decided to leave things more open.


End file.
